It All Came Crashing Down
by Very Swampeh
Summary: The slaughter of the Amestrian delegation to Drachma and the execution of the Fullmetal Alchemist shattered President Mustang's peace and set the nation catapulting towards its first war since the Ishbal Extermination. Post-manga. For FMA Week 15. War fic, character death.
1. Trust

Alright, here we go! This is my fic for FMA Week 15. It's completely written, but due to current travel plans, I may not update daily. But you'll have it all, don't worry!

Warnings for violence, death, language, and all the drama/angst associated with a war fic.

Some EdWin, but no real focus on romance in this story.

**Chapter 1: Trust**

Even now, more than twenty years later, Ed sometimes forgot that he didn't have his automail anymore. He'd trusted that his arm would block incoming attacks for years, and his reflexes were still stuck on following that.

And he was really starting to regret that.

The Drachman's knife had sliced right through his skin and muscle (down to the bone, probably), and Ed kicked out, sending the attacker to his knees. The room was in chaos, with the rest of the Amestrian delegation fighting back with whatever they could get their hands on.

Nobody had come into the room armed- that had been part of the deal. Both the Amestrian and the Drachman diplomats had been searched before being allowed inside. And since nobody present was an alchemist, there hadn't been any worries about someone trying to blow up half the room.

But of course the two dozen Drachman guards waiting _outside_ were heavily armed.

It didn't help that most of the Amestrians were older, and aside from Ed and two others, none of them had any sort of combat training. The Drachmans, on the other hand, were all trained soldiers. Even the diplomats knew what they were doing, as Ed found out when the Drachman minister of agriculture had broken another man's neck.

Ed still couldn't believe Mustang had talked him into this.

_"Drachma. You want __**me **__to go to Drachma to talk nice?"_

_Mustang leaned back in his chair. "Your name came up in Parliament and they actually managed to agree over it." _

_Ed's scowl deepened. "So you want me to go tromping through the frozen wastes just because a bunch of politicians thought it was a good idea?" _

_"Essentially, yes." When Ed offered up a rude gesture, Mustang continued. "You have a reputation, Fullmetal. If anything your face will scare the Drachmans into backing down." _

_That led to another round of mouthing off. "Look, Edward, if you don't want to go, I'll veto the movement and they can go back to arguing while Drachma continues to take shots at the border," Mustang finally said, slapping down a file folder to cut Ed off mid-rant. _

_It was a low shot, they both knew it. Ed's unstoppable desire to fix everything he could get his hands on practically tore at the bait. If he could stop the border tensions by simply showing up and shaking some hands, then he'd do it. _

_"If you go with the diplomats, you'll have immunity under international law." Mustang shrugged. "You could take the family, let them tour the city while you do boring, political things. I can wait another couple days before acting, so go think it over."_

At the moment, Ed was very glad he'd ended up going alone. Sara had broken her ankle earlier in the month, and Ed wasn't about to drag her through the Drachman mountains. Some of the other diplomats had come with their husbands and wives, and Ed had no doubt they were receiving the same treatment he was at the moment.

Gunshots went off, and Ed dove behind an upturned table. Papers were scattered all over the floor- trade agreements and tax rates, now spattered with blood. One of the other Amestrians was already there, a bloody candlestick clutched in his grasp.

It was Marcus Hossler, one of the assistants. The young man was shaking and almost brained Ed when he came close. "Fullmetal, sir! I didn't-!" His eyes widened as he took in the gash down Ed's right arm. It was coated with blood and looked about as bad as it felt. "You're injured!"

Ed gave him a look and snatched up a discarded cane. "So are you," he said, testing the grip of his right hand. It was weak, too weak to fight with. _Fantastic_. It wasn't the first time he found himself missing his automail. Even broken automail could be taken off and used a makeshift bludgeon. But he really wasn't about to cut off his arm and starting hitting people with it.

Hossler raised a hand to touch at the wound on his forehead, a stunned look on his face as it came away bloody. He made a noise of confusion and flinched again as someone screamed.

Shit, things were not going well. Ed chanced a glance over the top of the table in time to see one of the remaining dignitaries shoved into a corner by a cluster of Drachman guards. One of them pulled a knife from their belt and Ed ducked back down behind cover. He knew what was coming next.

Ed reached over and grabbed Hossler's arm. "We have to run. There's too many," he hissed. As much as he did want to stand and fight, they were outnumbered, outgunned, and were going to get themselves killed. Well, Hossler'd be killed, no doubt. But Ed had been famous for long enough to know that Drachma had more to gain by ransoming or torturing him.

"We can't run through them all, we'll be shot in the doorway!" Hossler looked like he was about to collapse on the spot. "The only other way out is the window!"

Well, Ed hadn't considered the window. He whipped his head around to stare at the large bay window. They were on the second floor, but it was snowing. Maybe the drifts would break their fall. If not… well, they were screwed anyway. "We have to take it, let's go!"

Hossler shook his head, eyes wide with horror. "What- No, I wasn't serious!"

Too late. Ed yanked him up and ran, bashing the cane into a Drachman soldier that got in the way. He went down and Ed tore past him. He could feel bad about beating up people later; right now, he just wanted to get out.

Behind him, Hossler let out a shout, and Ed, against all better judgment, looked over his shoulder. The other man was dragged to the floor, pinned down by two of the guards. And that was when it was over.

Two soldiers were on him in an instant. A steel-toed boot slammed into his left knee and Ed spat out a curse as it gave out, sending him to his knees. Even now, decades after the surgery, the port was still sensitive, especially in the dead of winter.

"No, get off-"

He managed to punch one in the nose and temporarily free himself, but he was the only moving target left in the room and the sole object of their attention. Ed turned, trying desperately to get his legs back under him. Half a step later, he was tackled from behind, head slamming onto the wooden floor. His vision spotted and Ed ground out another string of curses. But he was so outnumbered that Ed had to wonder if he would have stood a chance even if was twenty years younger and fully equipped with alchemy.

"I'm not going down here!" Ed snarled, cuffing an attacker. No, he was going to back to Amestris, yell at Mustang, yell at Parliament, and then just yell in general, because he was really sick and tired of getting dragged into these situations. Winry and the kids were waiting. Winry was opening the new automail shop soon and Alexander was getting ready to graduate and _he was going to be there_.

Someone grabbed him by the neck, pulled back, and slammed him into the floor again. And that was it.


	2. Fear

Same warnings as the previous chapters, with the addition of major character death and graphic scenes (though no more than what we've seen in the series).

Thank you to everyone who has read, faved, reviewed and followed this story!

**Chapter 2: Fear**

He wasn't dead.

Hossler couldn't believe it.

But the situation he found himself in wasn't much better than dead. He was in a basement, complete with cold stone walls and lack of windows. Hossler shifted, tugging at the ropes around his wrists and ankles. His ankles were then tied to a ring on the floor. At least the cut on his head had stopped bleeding at some point.

It was dark, with the only light coming in from the crack under the door. Hossler shifted, trying to get comfortable against the wall. He could barely remember anything from before. Just a lot of screaming and panic and then Fullmetal had tried to get him to jump out a window-

Something scraped along the floor and Hossler jerked up. It was then he finally noticed the shape across from him.

"It's me, calm down."

Hossler squinted. "Fullmetal?" he asked. A grunt of agreement was his response. Even in the dim light, he could pick out the glint of metal- the other man was tied like he was, except with chains.

They didn't get much further. The door slammed open and a trio of Drachmans swept into the room. The light was almost blinding and Hossler looked away. They completely ignored Hossler, instead clustering around Fullmetal. The three of them started speaking, all in Drachman. Their accents were too thick and they spoke too quickly for Hossler to follow, but their tone spoke volumes. They were gloating, rubbing their victory in their captive's face. Fullmetal listened in silence, and Hossler could catch glimpses between the legs of the Drachmans, glaring hard enough to melt rock.

The exchange continued for several minutes before one of the Drachmans barked out a laugh. The three of them then turned on their heels and left, slamming the door behind them. It went dark again.

"They're going to kill us." It wasn't a question at this point.

"No."

Hossler frowned. "Torture?" He'd heard stories about _that_.

Fullmetal shook his head. "They're not going to kill you."

"Me? But what about you?" The silence that followed was all the answer he needed. Hossler attempted to scoot closer, but he only managed about a foot before the rope stopped him. "No, it can't just be me!" he shouted. The situation was finally starting to become real and true panic was starting to set in. "They can't kill you, you're Edward Elric! There'll be riots all over Amestris!"

But maybe that was what Drachma wanted. They were a war economy, plagued by a food shortage. Amestris- and President Mustang particularly- had been stubbornly refusing to rise to any bait Drachma had thrown. Kidnappings, border attacks, and the like had all been dealt with politically in an attempt to keep things peaceful. So now the Drachmans were going all in and giving Amestris something they could no longer ignore.

"You're the example. They're sending you back to Briggs afterwards."

Hossler didn't need to ask after what exactly.

The rest of the night (at least he assumed it was nighttime) was passed in silence. They tried getting out of their bonds, but they were out of luck. Hossler tried to not think about what was coming; he was not very successful. And judging from the occasional angry curse, Fullmetal wasn't doing much better.

When the Drachmans returned, the two captives were unhooked from the floor and hauled to their feet. Everything was stiff and Hossler stumbled up the steps, barely able to feel his feet. Fullmetal wasn't fairing much better.

The Drachmans pulled them outside, into the freezing cold. They were still in the main government complex, and were headed towards the front steps on the czar's palace. A mob of soldiers had congregated at the base of the stairs, clapping and shouting as the captives neared.

In front of him, Fullmetal dug his heels in and turned as much as he could toward Hossler. "Don't let them go to war over this."

Hossler stared, almost tripping over a rock in his path. "What?" he gasped. "You can't be serious! This breaks half a dozen treaties and accords!" Never mind the fact that Drachma was about to publicly execute a national icon.

Fullmetal cursed as the Drachmans practically pulled him off his feet in their haste. "It's not worth it! Amestris can't go back to a war state!" And then he was gone, staggering up the steps of the Drachman capitol building.

Hossler was dragged to the bottom, where they forced him to his knees, with a gun at his back. He still couldn't believe this. He was just an intern- he was supposed to file papers and cross-reference treaties and bring coffee. Not this! He hadn't even been originally picked to come, but the two others ahead of him had been relieved- one was sick and the other had a newborn. So here he was, a captive of Drachma, stuck between the teeming throng of soldiers and their leader.

Fullmetal had been pulled up to a makeshift platform that had, undoubtedly, been set up just for the occasion. There was a brief struggle between Fullmetal and his guards before they managed to wrestle him down to his knees and, once again, chain him down. One of the soldiers, Hossler noted, came away with a bloody nose.

The cheering from the soldiers escalated, and Hossler turned in time to see the czar himself climbing the stairs. He stopped next to Fullmetal and immediately launched into a speech. The soldiers responded accordingly, yelling, clapping, and stomping their feet in approval. It was a damned rally, and Hossler swallowed down the urge to vomit. Instead, he locked onto Fullmetal, trying to ignore the gun digging into his back and the roars of the soldiers.

Their eyes made contact for a split second before the czar grabbed a fistful of Fullmetal's hair, yanked his head back, and stabbed him straight through the throat.

Hossler screamed and made to get up. To do what, he had no idea, but the Drachmans forced him back down, a gun pressed down into his shoulder. On the platform, Fullmetal slumped forward and the czar pushed him close enough to the edge that his head and shoulders hung off the edge.

They kept him there, choking on his own horrified sobs until Fullmetal's blood trickled down the stairs, into the snow, and began to soak into his pants. The soldiers were cheering, half of them chanting something in Drachman as the czar made a show of handing off his bloody sword to one of his generals. They were probably going to display it, Hossler realized with a horrified detachment. A relic of a proud Drachman victory, a deadly blow against their southern enemies.

Off to the side, someone was even taking pictures.


	3. War

Some minor characters show up here- Neil is the automail mechanic from Briggs. Unfortunately the nurse at Briggs is never named, so I've dubbed her Milla.

**Chapter 3: War**

Olivier stormed down the hallway, Miles on her heels. The delegation to Drachma had been out of contact for nearly two days and the scouts had finally spotted someone headed towards Briggs.

"Who is it?" she asked, turning a corner. It wasn't a Drachman, or the soldiers would have shot him instead of bringing him inside.

"He identified himself as Marcus Hossler," Miles replied, managing to keep pace with her. "We already called Central and they confirmed he was one of the assistants."

Olivier scowled and thrust open a door. "You called Central, so I take it Mustang will come blazing up here like he owns the place." That was just what she needed- a irrational Mustang on top of a volatile border situation.

"I didn't talk to the President, sir, so I can't confirm-"

The doors to the medical rooms opened as they neared. "About time, this boy's about to drop dead," snapped Neil, who looked too angry to bother with saluting. "Milla wanted to hold off on giving him anything till you got here, though. Figured you'd want him lucid."

Milla barely looked up when they neared, instead focusing on tossing out a handful of bloody cloths. Hossler was perched on an exam table, looking for all the world like he'd just walked out of hell. He was shaking, coughing, and his clothes were ripped in bloodied. "He's getting feverish. Probably has an infection. And frostbite," she said, tying off the stitches she'd applied to the cut on his forehead.

Neil crossed the room and picked up a satchel. "He had this on him, said the Drachmans ordered him to deliver it." He held it out, a grim look on his face. "You'll want to look in there. We had to check it for explosives and it's not much better."

Olivier eyed it with distaste but took it and opened it, Miles leaning over her shoulder. They were rewarded with the sight of several locks of hair, some bloody wallets, and even a wedding ring on a severed finger. Miles made a sound of disgust and pulled out a thin envelope tucked inside.

She slammed the bag down on a nearby table and crossed over to Hossler. "Boy, where are the others? Hostages?" she demanded, grabbing his shoulder to make him look at her. He shivered violently again, struggling to focus on the general's face. "And why did they let you go?" Drachma was playing with them, she could tell. Mustang's push for peace was all well and good, but their northern neighbors really didn't care anymore. And she, for one, was not about to be jerked around anymore.

Hossler shook his head, hands gripping the edge of the table. "No, they're all-all dead," he whispered. "They got us in the talks, it was a trap!"

The general tensed. "They attacked you during _negotiations_?" She couldn't believe this. She'd assumed this was some sort of attack by an angry rebel group, not a sanctioned ambush by the government. "Mustang won't be able to keep us out of a war now." War was ugly, but Drachma had been poking and teasing them for months. Unless Amestris wanted to look like an easy target to the rest of the continent, they were going to have to strike back.

"I don't think he'll want to, sir."

Olivier looked over to see Miles holding out a photograph. Milla and Neil had photos in their hands, and they all looked grim. The automail mechanic even looked a little green.

For a moment, Olivier eyed the offered photograph. Briggs soldiers were strong, the best in the country, and if they were thrown even this much, the photographs weren't anything good.

She took it, looked, and handed it back. No, it was not good. "Are they all like that?" she asked, voice low. Hossler was started to make sniffling noises.

Miles nodded without a word, sliding the photograph back in the envelope.

"Get him cleaned up," she said, gesturing at Hossler, who had buried his head in his hands. "We'll send him down to Central when he's ready."

Neil hefted Hossler up by his elbow, intending to get him to one of the beds. But the boy stopped suddenly, turning to face Armstrong. "But you can't!" he said, looking desperately between the soldiers. When nobody said anything, he continued, his voice becoming more urgent. "He said we couldn't go to war, it wasn't worth it!"

Nobody needed to ask who "he" was. Olivier shook her head. "He doesn't have much say in the matter anymore," she replied, tone final. Those intentions were well and good, but they weren't going to get them out of the situation.

The general turned to Miles. "Double the watches. And send an escort to guard whoever Central sends up here. We need to inventory our ammunition and supplies. We're not going to get caught off guard. Drachma only gets one lucky shot." Her voice was firm, level. She knew how to handle Drachma, knew how to fight.

But if Drachma thought they could get the upper hand by slaughtering a national icon, they were going to be sorely disappointed.


	4. Love

Shorter chapter today, but here you go!

**Chapter 4: Love**

Barely anybody was surprised when the war declaration passed the parliament. Even fewer were surprised the motion to mobilize the State Alchemists to the northern front also passed.

And the fact that Edward Elric's oldest son showed up to join the State Alchemists surprised nobody.

The Elric household had been, to put it lightly, a mess. It had always been chaotic, with seven people living under one roof, an automail shop on the first floor, and a lab in the back. Throw in the general mayhem that was Rush Valley, and it was a veritable mess.

But it had worked. It had always worked, even with Ed's research, Winry's patients, and the kids wanting to travel for an internship or training.

It had worked until now. Without one support beam, the whole house came crashing down.

Elrics began showing up across rosters and military lists. The eldest in the State Alchemy program, a daughter up in the Briggs mechanical unit. Another daughter and son, too young to actually enlist on a military front, were holding down the fort at the automail shop as best they could.

Ed would have been furious. Despite the changes to the State Alchemists and the military itself, he'd absolutely refused to budge when any of his kids brought up the topic. He'd seen the corruption, the manipulation, and the abuse, and knew how far it could go. How easily one person could be turned against another. Mustang could turn the whole military inside out, but all it would take was one person to undo it all.

"I'm not going to sit back and watch as some cold-blooded general sends you to level an army!" Ed had shouted when Alexander had once brought up the possibility of signing up for the alchemy exam. They'd argued on and off for months before finally dropping the matter entirely. Alexander had later opted to go to college, but they all knew it had been sitting in the back of his mind. But now Edward was dead, and didn't have to watch.

So they did it. They signed up with the army, made weapons, and went north. They did it because they loved their father.


	5. Reunion

**Chapter 5: Reunion**

Roy figured he should have been expecting this. He had been swamped in the past weeks, between Parliament and the military. The press had been handled by his staff, and given the aggression of Drachma, nobody had been let into his office besides his own men. And even they were avoiding him like the plague.

He couldn't blame them. His arrival at Briggs had been ugly, to put it mildly. And ever since coming back to Central, his moods had swung from apathetic to violent. It had been a struggle to keep a professional front when dealing with Parliament. Roy couldn't even remember the last time he'd been outside of headquarters. Or eaten something warm for that matter.

The country was a wreck. He was a wreck. And none of them were going to get better any time soon.

It wasn't until Alphonse Elric showed up in his office that Roy realized that the last Elric he'd spoken to had been Ed.

As soon as his presence registered, Roy's hands dropped to the desk. An apology was on his lips, but he knew Alphonse wouldn't want to hear it.

It was dead silent and Al refused to sit. Instead, he took another step closer, staring Roy down. Roy found the stack of weapons requisitions far more interesting than finally confronting the Elrics.

"Who suggested his name?"

Roy looked up. Al's stare was level and his face was blank, but Roy had worked alongside Elrics long enough to know that they were one wrong step from an explosion. "How did you know?"

Al worked his jaw before finally grinding out his brother's name. "Ed said someone in Parliament nominated him. Who was it?"

"It was someone from the east… I can look up who it was." Roy couldn't remember who had brought Ed's name up. But everything would have been recorded. Al's eyes narrowed and Roy's hand paused mid-reach for the stack of papers on the edge of his desk. "…Why?" he asked. Alphonse's façade was starting to crack and he made to grab the documents before Roy slapped his hand down on them. "Alphonse." Something was off here.

Al's hands hovered before he pulled them back to stuff in his pockets. "I'm curious," he replied, suddenly looking down at the floor.

"You're a terrible liar, you know." Even in his old armor, Al had always managed to give himself away when he was lying. "Tell me why you want to know."

"I told you, I'm just-"

"You came all the way to Central from Xing just to ask this? You couldn't have called?" Roy's phone line was private, sure, but the Elrics had always been the exception. Both of the brothers had called from time to time when their research aimed that back towards Central. "You don't want anyone to overhear," Roy realized. Even his secure line ran the chance of being tapped, especially with the war. He slid the papers closer to his chest. "_Why_, Alphonse?"

"It's a conspiracy," Al said, closing the distance between them to stand up against Roy's desk. "It was years ago, when I stopped in East City." He shook his head, the calm finally giving way to desperation. "I was picking up some documents from the records department and I overheard some soldiers talking. The usual, how they didn't like you, how the peace was messing with the economy, that Ed reforming the alchemy program was leaving us vulnerable. I didn't really pay attention, but I saw the papers from the recent election and recognized one of them." Al finally sunk into one of the chairs, burying his head in his hands. "I think his name was Pav-"

"Pavel." Roy's insides clenched. There was only one listed military officer in Parliament- Pavel, a Major from East City. He always opposed anything Roy tried to pass that worked towards keeping relations peaceful with Drachma. "He's been warmongering since he got in to Parliament, but everyone ignores him." The only support Pavel ever got was from his own constituents, which comprised mostly of old military families.

Al was staring at him with horror. "But why? What would he get from a war?"

Roy's eyes travelled back down the requisition requests on his desk as he thought. Pavel wasn't from Drachma and didn't have any ties to the other country that had been found during his background check. He hadn't even _fought _in a war.

_"…the Fifth Armed Division will require four-hundred rifles and ammunition. As per the passage of War Bill #5673 in 1906, all cold-weather weapons will be made with Pavel steel. Furthermore, the Fifth will need…" _

Roy snatched up the paper, unable to believe his eyes. "Pavel Steel," he whispered. Al grabbed the sheet out of his hand, scanning it hungrily. "His family owns all the arms factories in the east. They're the main supplier for military munitions and without a war…"

"They have no business." Al dropped the sheet back on Roy's desk.

It was a weak theory, despite it all. It was an elaborate stunt just for the sake of drumming up business. There wasn't even any solid proof that Pavel had coordinated anything with Drachma, or that this wasn't some horrible, twisted coincidence. Not yet, anyway. Roy had every intention of following this as far as he could.

Al was still staring at him. "I wanted to be wrong," he whispered, running a hand down his face. "It's been years, I didn't think anyone still had it out for Ed."

"You might be wrong. Ed might not have been a target, either. He might have just been Pavel's best ticket to getting a war." Even to his own ears it sounded like a lie. There were no coincidences where Edward Elric was concerned.

"You'll find out, though?"

"We will."

And they did. Three days later, Havoc intercepted a Drachman agent leaving the Pavel estate with coded documents between Major Pavel and several ranking generals from Drachma.


	6. Home and Family

Sorry this one's a day late! Traveling is turning out to be a bit more hectic than usual. Chapter 7 will probably be delayed too, but you'll have it soon.

**#6- Home and Family**

In all honesty, Heinkel had never planned on going anywhere near Briggs ever again. The whole Baschool incident, and Kimblee, and then spending months on the run had rather soured his whole view of the northern region. Also, it was_ cold_. Even if he could grow a mane on command, it didn't change the fact that the wind was cutting down to his bones.

And yet, as soon as the news broke and the war was officially declared, he dropped everything to tromp around knee-deep in the snow.

Darius plodded over to him, bundled in layers of military coats. He shoved a pack into Heinkel's hands and the two chimeras stood in silence. They could hear tanks firing in the distance. Amestris was still mobilizing, but the Briggs soldiers had already taken up arms to keep the Drachmans at bay until the rest of the military arrived.

"That damn kid," Darius finally muttered. "Always dragging us into his messes."

"Well, this one wasn't really his fault."

"Still."

Heinkel grunted and riffled through the pack absently. More bandages, some extra rations, and a spare flask of water. Another minute passed and Heinkel spoke up again. "Heard his kid passed the exam." They weren't really surprised.

Darius pulled his collar up higher at a sudden gust of wind. "What're they calling him? Earthquake or something?"

"Something like that." Rumor was that Central was planning on sending him on strike missions to harass the Drachman soldiers. It was probably Mustang trying to keep the kid off the front lines and away from the main fighting. Heinkel had to wonder how long that plan would work. Elrics had a tendency to do what they wanted and go where they pleased. He snorted and shook his head. "We babysat that kid, remember?" That had been _years_ ago.

"Yeah, and he puked all over you the whole night," Darius snickered, punching his partner in the arm.

"At least he didn't scream in terror when he first saw me." That whole night had been an adventure and had reassured Heinkel that he was most definitely not cut out for children. Especially when they were teething. Or hungry, or tired, or any mood other than asleep. "Hell, now I feel old. He's practically our grandson."

"I thought we were the weird uncles." Never mind the fact that they were technically old enough to actually be grandfathers. It didn't really matter; they had accidentally attached themselves to the bizarre extended Elric family.

A group of soldiers marched by, arms full of supplies.

Another moment passed before Darius spoke up again. "When's your unit leaving?" The two of them had been assigned to different squads. Them being chimeras wasn't exactly as classified as it was before, and it had been decided that their skills were better off spread out.

Heinkel brushed some snow off his shoulder. "Two days. We're still waiting on some more people to get here. You?"

"Tomorrow afternoon." Darius raised an eyebrow and turned to Heinkel. "Drinks at my place after all this mess?"

"Your place smells like cabbages. But yeah, I'll be there." Heinkel grinned. "Can't pass up the chance to eat all your food."


	7. Journey

And here's the last chapter! Thank you to everyone who left feedback and followed and waited for the end!

**Chapter 7: Journey**

It had been months. Drachma had been gearing for war for some time, and when Amestris came charging through the mountains armed to the teeth, they dug in and held their ground. It had been nasty- Parliament had elected to mobilize the state alchemists, and the Drachmans had invested heavily in upgrading their tanks. Add in the fact that both sides were waging guerrilla warfare, and the military's medical bays were constantly full.

It had been non-stop chaos, but it had been an excellent distraction. Soldiers lost limbs, and those with automail needed northern replacements or constant repairs. Winry hadn't had a moment to actually stop in weeks.

And even now it hadn't sunk in. Ed had always gone months without contacting her when he'd been a State Alchemist. And as foolish as it was, part of her still clung to that same train of thought. Maybe it was all a lie. Maybe Ed was still alive. Maybe the picture had been staged. Maybe they could all go home to Rush Valley when this was all over.

She hadn't been thinking about her kids, or Alphonse, or even Edward. They'd all been split up- Alexander was roaming the mountains on strike missions, Sara was following the main company to work their tanks and the younger kids were running the automail shop and handling what orders and maintenance they could. She didn't even know where Alphonse was. He'd been working to get the bottom of the Pavel conspiracy and was moving around constantly between Amestris and Drachma, mostly under the radar.

And the conspiracy was something else Winry hadn't been able to believe when she'd heard. People had it out for Edward, sure. Even after retiring from the military, Ed still managed to get his hands into everything. He'd rooted out corruption, even managed to ruin a small handful of old, prestigious military families. She'd seen the retaliation herself; once, on a train to Central, the son of a disgraced general had tried to shoot them.

But Pavel's connections had gone deep, crossing into Drachma. And from there, they had gone through the Drachman military and government, and then sunk into the black market. It had been building for years, with thousands of cens trading hands and crossing borders. Drachma had supplied the fuel, Pavel had set it up, and then they'd lit the fire and watched it burn.

Enough time and distraction had passed that thinking of Edward was a dull ache. It had been an ugly ride to get to this level of control, and she had no doubt that once it was all over, once they had gone home- all of them, in whatever shape- that it'd be just as torturous as the first week had been. And that first week had been _horrible_.

For a while, she'd stuck with the main host. She knew the people there, and it was secure enough that she didn't have to worry about someone coming after her. It had been safe and "normal" enough to anchor her for a while. Until the Drachmans had called. She'd been in the communications room when Amestris had attempted to negotiate the return of the bodies. "Well…" The Drachman's voice had become almost teasing. "The taxes for sending goods across your border are a bit steep. It might be better for you to come and collect them yourself."

It had been a challenge, plain and simple. And Amestris had taken the bait.

That had been months ago, and Amestris had finally reached the Drachman capitol. It was an old city, still surrounded by old, stone curtain walls. Against siege equipment, they put up a fight. But against a small platoon of alchemists, they had gone from wall to rubble in minutes. Then the army had charged in, and the the beginning of the end was finally upon them.

More than half the city was under their control. They'd secured the Drachman's government and military buildings, and the remnants of their army had retreated to the far side of the city.

Here in the main plaza was safe enough. Winry even recognized it from the photographs. Winry made her way out of the medical tent that had been set up. A unit of soldiers was sweeping the buildings. They were checking for any Drachmans hiding out for an ambush, but there was an ulterior motive. The military compound had holding cells for prisoners underneath, and that, they all knew, was probably where the Amestrian delegation was being kept.

Winry almost didn't want them to find anyone. Without a body, there was no proof, and she could continue to cling to the hope that Edward was still alive. It was a horrible and twisted dream, but the denial had kept her going to this point.

Another group of soldiers exited the building. Winry didn't pay any attention to them until one of them came up and touched her on the arm.

She started in surprise, then immediately reached out to him. "Alexander!" He looked horrible, Winry realized, as she pulled her oldest into a hug. He'd lost weight and looked like he hadn't slept in a week. That was to be expected, given all the heavy alchemy he'd been performing. He was probably exhausted.

"I'm glad you're okay, Mom," he said when they pulled apart. "I didn't get any letters out in the wilderness." News of his unit had been scarce, too. Mustang had kept it under wraps, even keeping himself out of the loop if it was necessary. Winry had hated not being able to know if her son was even alive, but he had survived, so the secrecy had been worth it. "What about the others?"

"They're all fine," Winry replied, running her fingers through his hair to reassure herself that he was here. "Sara's further south, and the rest are still taking care of things at home." She'd gotten a letter just the other day, in fact.

He hummed in satisfaction, then reached up to grab her hand. Winry immediately frowned and Alexander dropped his eyes.

"I found him," he whispered, biting down on his lip. "I found Dad in one of the cells and they just left him-!"

Winry pulled him back into a hug, cutting him off. She wasn't ready to hear this, and her son didn't seem ready to talk about it. Instead they held each other, Alexander silently crying into her shoulder as she fisted her hands in his coat.

After several minutes, Alexander took a deep breath. "But we can go home now, right?" he asked, sounding for all the world like he had when he was six and had gotten scared on a camping trip.

She held him tighter. "Right."


End file.
